Oh, this is bad. So, so bad. “Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t sure ab—are you okay?”
He limps over to check the body, casting a dark look over his shoulder. “What the hell kind of question is that? Honestly, I’ve been better. Thank fuck you only grazed me.”
“I really am sorry. What do we do? Shit, we need to get you to a hospital.”
There’s an edge of panic in my voice. I can’t tamp it down, even knowing I need to. I’ve shot the guy who’s supposed to be protecting me, and if he decides I’m not worth the trouble?
Well, I’m not stupid. I know what happens then.
“Great idea. While we’re at it, we’ll stop by the police station, let them know about the two bodies on the premises to make things easy for them.”
Wait he’s not…he’s not serious. Right? No, he can’t be. “Okay. Sorry. Fuck.”
All this apologizing makes me feel about two inches tall. Old habits.
He takes a breath before adding, “Any hospital would have to report a bullet wound. We could lie about what happened, but I’m not taking that risk.” The way he rolls his eyes makes me feel a whole lot less sorry than I did a minute ago.
Dick. “How the hell am I supposed to know? This is my first time dealing with anything like this.”
Milo nods, looking pained but less angry. “I get that. And I wish we had time for you to freak out properly, but we don’t. We need to get rid of these bodies. Put Iggy back in his glass box for a minute and help me get these guys down to the lake.”
Jesus. “You’re serious?” Bile rises in my throat as I take in the guy on the ground. Those wide-open, unseeing eyes bring back the mess in that hotel room with the other guy I saw Milo kill. I haven’t really been able to properly lose my shit about that, either. “I don’t think I can do that.”
He gestures to the dead guy lying in the grass. “What do you think we’re going to do, leave him for a neighbor to spot in the morning?”
Right. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. “I guess not.”
Still, as much as I try to make my feet move, they refuse.
Milo’s expression softens then. He comes over, running a gloved hand along the side of my face. It’s oddly comforting, despite me knowing he’s probably wearing them so his fingerprints won’t get on any of the bodies or whatever.
“Look at me, Rowan. You can handle this. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do, and this is one of those times. Youhandled that crazy motherfucker trying to kill you at the hotel, you can handle this.”
Have I though? “O-okay.”
All at once Milo’s expression hardens again. So fast it gives me whiplash. “And you damn well better not slow me down or I can’t promise to keep you safe. So save all this shit for therapy.”
Can I really do that? Becauseoneperson trying to kill you is a wild story you tell your therapist someday. Or maybe a friend after a few beers. It’s scary, but it’s a fluke. This? This is not a fluke.
“Fine. Right. You’re right.” I take a painful gulp of air. “I can handle this.”
No part of me believes that right now. But what choice do I have?
“Good.” He hands me a pair of gloves. “Put these on. We need to get this done and then get the hell out of here before someone shows up.”
I rush back inside, nearly tripping over a guy sprawled on his back in my rush to return Iggy to his tank. There’s blood blooming across his chest. Jesus.
My stomach heaves. Again. And again I’m fighting to keep the contents down.
My hand holding onto Iggy is the only reason I’m able to stay upright. As the reality of this entire night slams me from the side, my legs are refusing to hold my weight. If I fall, I could hurt Iggy. It’s what my brain clings to as I force my feet to move. As I try to breathe past the dizziness tipping the room sideways.
One day, about a year and a half ago, I woke up in bed after a visit from Tucker. He’d shown up, fucked me, and then retreated to his office to take some calls before leaving again. Without saying goodbye.
It was the lowest I’d ever felt. I’d wondered then if life could get any worse.
Now I wish I hadn’t wondered.
13
